


Leviathan

by Gwarsh



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Cannibalism, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwarsh/pseuds/Gwarsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world ends. Fifteen year old Will Graham finds himself in the company of a ruthless man, Hannibal. He is pushed off the edge of both his body and mind in a world that is amoral. Hannibal only serves as both the rope and noose holding him up.</p><p> </p><p>A hannibalkink fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - HOME. (What Will Loves)

**Author's Note:**

> kink meme fill:
> 
>  
> 
> Just please give me Hannibal and Will on the road and surviving. I suspect Hannibal, despite his love of nice things, would be secretly thrilled at the complete collapse of society. And at least he still has his mongoose to keep him company.
> 
> http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=809823#cmt809823

 

 

 

* * *

 

 “The mind is its own place, and in itself  
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.”

\- Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

_  
_

 

 

William lives in the middle of nowhere.

 

He’s walking around his home. The green expanse surrounding his home provides a woodland cover at the edge. Will loves the way the sunlight creeps over the trees in the distance. When Winston barks so loud it scares a flock of birds. Or the way he hears his father’s voice echo through nature as he call him home. He has this one spot that’s just his too. This one spot where he can look down into valley and watch the tiny sleepy town sits at the foot of a mountain.

 

Will’s been to town on occasion, but the way they watch him, makes him uncomfortable. He hates their eyes.

 

He loves it here; He loves the simplicity, the silence, the assured nature of everyday flowing and falling into the one before. Only his eyes see.

 

It’s just the three of them out here; Dad, Winston, and himself.

 

No mom, never been a mom.

 

Not for a long time anyway.

 

From what he can glean from the various photos, or even shrines, his father has her, Will knows he looks like her. Thin, tired eyes, and thick curly hair. She’s plain looking, but his father’s reverence of her has something to with her mind. Something about her being able to “see people, too see designs”.

 

She would die by her own hand on a Tuesday morning. That was back in Louisiana. Will was left in the living room, one last hair ruffle before she left the room. He cannot remember her face outside of photos; he can’t seem to ever recall her exact features. He only remembers the weight of her hand on his head. She would then go to the bathroom lock her self in and slit her wrist. Will still vividly recalls the sensation of sticky warm blood underneath his feet as he knocks on the door.

 

A voice from the other side. ‘What do you see?’ It’s soft inquisitive, a woman’s voice.

 

Mommy’s voice.

 

‘Mom? Mommy!’

 

Will turns his head at the sound, he sees himself. The little boy waves to him. The small bright form of the child contrast to the darkening forest that surrounds him. Will turns his head forward again. The illusion ceases to exist.

 

He’s been taught how to deal with his delusions when the medicine fails dispel them. He knows that psychological disease can be passed down as either a recessive gene or dominant gene. Unfortunately for him it is a dominant gene. He sees things that don’t exist. He feels what other people feel, sees what they see. His father discourages the medicine, but Will has sleep walked across state lines chasing will-o-the-wisp. The danger of his wandering proves to convince his father he needs medicine.

 

Bill Graham is more the natural sort, the type of guy who spits in his own wounds. Western like with an cajun twist, a twang musical step in his body. His father has the love of spice hammered into his bones. The love of all things from the sea, its why they got this home when they left Lousiana. A lake is not an ocean, but something about catching fish soothes his father.

 

He gives the love of fishing to his son.

 

It makes Will happy. Something he has father have, quiet on that boat. He doesn’t know it then, but as the last rays of summer settled over the horizon that day, and Will soaked with contentment as he ate at his father’s table. It would be the last time.

 

Will arrives to his spot at percisely 3:17 pm.

                  

He looks over the mountain. A bright light flashes to the west and to his north. The light is so bright he covers his eyes, squinting.

 

“What is that?” he wonders.

 

There’s wind it’s warm.  He’s thrown back and blacks out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME: William wakes to unfamiliar surroundings. He must salvage what he can. Thank God for Winston.
> 
> “If you’re hungry, then you must eat what you can find.” Will only cries as Hannibal plunges the knife into to belly of his beloved dog. When Hannibal forces the cooked food past his lips, the meat is the best food Will has had in days.


	2. ENCOUNTERS. (WHEN WILL MET HANNIBAL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and a show.

 

_There’s a bible in the drawer of the dresser. He’s reading it for fun, its like a giant storybook. He can’t say all the words, but the ones he can’t he shoves the book at his father and demands an answer. So it comes down to his father reading it._

_Suddenly the book is snapped closed._

_‘Will…I don’t believe in God.’_

_‘Why?’_

_‘There is no heaven, there is no hell. There are only our choices and consequence.’_

_‘Consequence?’_

_‘The weight of choice, what a choice means.’_

_Will feels the weight of his mothers hand on his head._

_He understands. Fingers play with his hair._

 

Will wakes in a tangled mess of trees and red. He leans up slightly to look around. His clothes are tattered and appear to be singed. His bare legs have tiny scrapes all over them that tingle and burn with pain. The left side of his abdomen hurts. He blinks slowly. His glasses are almost entirely broken. The glass splinted into webs of kaleidoscope. Each varied angled of shard twisting to its own view, zooming in and out of focus. He smells smoke and sees red and black splotches, but cannot locate the source of the flames.

 

What just happened? There is no sound around him, and he wonders if perhaps he just can’t hear. His heart beats faster for a moment, his blood pumping so hard he feels its pulse beneath his eyes. His breathing is picking up now.

 

He needs to stay calm.

 

He needs to get up.

 

“Ugh- fuck!”

 

As he tries to push himself up a flash of pain erupts from his side. Will lets out a frustrated scream as leans forward enough to see a branch sticking through his body. Sticky red and splintered off it pops out right under his ribs. Flesh and cotton hang from the end waving like a flag. 

 

“Oh God…”

 

He counts backwards from ten. Will is panting in short heavy successions.

 

“Three…two…one…” Will whispers aloud before pushing up once more. He feels tears sting his eyes as he can’t push himself up again. Crying out once more as pain assaults him he calms. He breathes heavily again.

 

“Okay… we can do this.  One more time… I can do this.” He can do this. One time he accidentally fell his bike and tore open his knee as a child. Raw ragged and meaty he crawled a mile back to his house and his father drove him to the hospital.

 

All he has to do is get up.

 

Teeth gashing, body trembling, mind completely focused he pushes his body upwards. The meat flag is pushed off the end of the branch slowly as he rises. Stumbling slightly Will manages to get to his feet. He clutches his side with hand and yanks his glasses off with the other.

 

He still can’t see anything nearby but distance he can see.

 

Will can’t recognize anything. The trees many of them have blown over. Listening once more he hears nothing. He looks up to the sky for an indicator anything. Vaguely recalling the phrase, ‘the sun rises in the east and sets in the west’ . Horror crosses his feature momentarily when he realizes there is no sun.

 

The sky only glows an eerie red. Smokes billows every now and then, but there is no wind. The leaves of the trees are gone leaving only gnarled twisted hands reaching up or to the sides.

 

He nearly falls over when the ground beneath him starts to tremble.

 

“Earthquake? …a small one. Ok William, let’s walk. Don’t worry about that now.” The sound of his voice comforts him. He needs the noise to ground him to keep his energy up. He drags his feet over the toppled tree before him before he starts down the winding

 

 

Unsure and just hoping, he walks in one direction. 

 

~

 

He’s lucky.

 

Will makes it home

 

His house is not so lucky.

 

It looks like a burned doll house crushed beneath the wrath of a sullen child. Wood is thrown everywhere, tossed like straw. The structures that remained clubbed together are charred and tiny embers leap from them. The porch is gone. The truck is gone not even a scrap of it is insight.  Winston’s dog house is gone, but the crappy little shed he and his dad built is still there. Covered with wood but, still standing strong.

 

The little shitty thing!

 

He laughs and can’t stop laughing until he’s on his knees sobbing.

 

Will doesn’t even know where to start. If the truck isn’t here he doesn’t know where his father is.

 

‘He was probably in the living room. Making fishing hooks for you. Winston was probably there.’ He smells something. Maybe its burning flesh…maybe its just the smell of the burning wood.

 

He vomits straight down onto his shoes.

 

Coughing he wipes his mouth and nose.

 

Will needs a few things now. He has to find that truck. He has to find out whether his father is alive or…

 

But first he has to get to the shed. Get that medical kit and those terrible granola bars. Canteen and hopefully some unopened water bottles are in there. The walk to the shed felt even longer the one back home, but again he makes it. He moves the wood, ignoring the heavy pain in his side.

 

He does it and then just falls asleep, slumped over and triumphant over his various accomplishments of the day.

 

Will dreams of nothing.

 

~

 

He wakes to sensation of wetness of his face. He smiles.

 

“Winston!” He cries out, eyes flinging open. He calls the dogs name again and again as he wraps his arms around him. Winston only pants happily trying to lick his head. With renewed strength he stands. He pets the dog until Winston rolls on his back tongue lolling to the side with contentment.

 

Will laughs.

 

The suns even out today!

Winston’s here he’s not alone.

 

He hadn’t even realized how much this meant to him until now. The other day, being alone it had been scary. If-if Winston was okay could that possibly mean his father-?!

 

Yes!

 

Will felt like he was on cloud nine, “Alright boy, let’s get in the shed.”

 

Winston barks happily as will cease petting to open the door to the shed.

 

Rope, old glasses, one case of water bottles, camping backpack, and various tools…No food.

 

Winston whimpers and Will runs a hand through his hair.

 

“It’s ok Winston, I’d rather have you at my side any day than those bars.”

 

His stomach growls.

 

“We have water. Takes days to even start starving...”

 

It’s not comforting, but Winston nuzzles his hand.

 

~

 

Five days, he’s been hungry for five days. He and Winston are diminishing the water supply and the sky is gray again but no rain comes. The heat is unbearable, and despite the earlier desire to find his father Will is too scared to look. Half hoping his father will simply comeback on his own.  

 

They sleep in the shed. will slips off his tattered clothes for a pair of old cargo shorts and a loose white T-shirt. He ends up sleeping naked next to his dog, afraid he’ll sweat through the clothes enough for them to smell worse than his body.

                                                                                                     

Bitter and angry there are hours where Will lays next to Winston  and hopes his father is just as hungry and tired.

 

By the third day of hunger he can’t smell himself. He resigns himself to the fact that his father isn’t coming back and yet he still doesn’t want to believe it.

 

He has to leave, poor Winston is sleepy sometimes. Hungry not even a rabbit passes through for the dog to catch. He needs to go to the lake. He needs the fish, he needs the water. He needs to be clean.

 

 Will ties Winston to a tree, patting the dog on the head before he walks away slowly.  He glances back constantly until he can no longer see Winston sitting by the tree. He’s almost never tied the dog before, but he’s afraid of Winston wandering off.

 

Or that is how he reasons it.

 

 

 At the shore of the lake, his father’s lake, the fish are all dead. He can’t even drink the fucking water; much less take some for later. Frustrated he falls to his knees and throws off his backpack. Will crawls towards the edge of the water. Idly, letting his hand dip in he sees black specks in the water. He can’t wash in it. Cupping some in his hand he pulls it closer for inspection. Will allows the water to slowly drain between his fingers.

 

The black specs clump together.

 

Curious.

 

“It’s ash.”

 

Startled Will jumps to his feet wincing at the sudden movement. Slower, he turns around.

 

A tall pale man stands behind him. Thin lips, slightly pulled upwards as if smirking. Dark hair combed neatly, his eyes dark and slightly drooping send Will on edge. He focuses instead on other things. The man is dressed in a formal dress shirt, a few buttons undone at the collar. Black slacks, dress shoes, a jacket tied around his waist. A large backpack, a smaller back, and most noticeably a rifle slung over his shoulder.

 

“Ah.”

 

The man makes a few strides over. Will takes a few steps back his foot crushing one of the many dead fish on the shore with a squelching noise. He slips and lands planted firmly on his bum. Will looks anywhere than at the tall man whose decided to crouch next to him.

 

He doesn’t do well with strangers. This is the first person Will has seen in a week, he’s carrying a weapon and has an accent. Will is nervous. He starts to sweat.

 

“None of these fish could escape. They would die of asphyxiation either way.”

 

His accented voice causes to stare directly at him face. Up close the man seems less threatening, softer.

 

“They’re not even edible… what a waste. Would you not agree?” He catches will’s eyes and smiles.

 

Unsure what to say, Will shakily replies, “I suppose.”

 

They stay there for a while the silent forest surrounding them. The lake is still beautiful in its own way. Its dark color hides the ash well until it kisses the shore. The gray haze covering the sky is pierced momentarily to allow a sparkle over the water. However, the scent of rotting fish permeates over all else. Will knows they both must be too tired to care.

 

“My name is Hannibal Lector.”

 

Will looks over the man’s gaze is on the lake. He’s relieved the man didn’t try to shake his hand.

 

“I’m William Graham.”

 

A pause. Hannibal cocks his head to side slightly sniffing the air.

 

Shocked Will raises an eyebrow. “D-did you just smell me?”

 

Hannibal looks him in the eye once more; his expression taught with disgust, “Forgive my rudeness, but you smell terrible.”

 

Will throws his head back and laughs.

 

~

 

Hannibal, will finds, has many useful items on him and is willing to share. He gives Will a bottle of water and a bar of soap first.

 

He questions if Will is from around here.

 

Will answers honestly.

 

Hannibal reveals he’s a doctor.

 

Will asks the man to take look at his side.

 

Hannibal fixes it. Cleans out the wooden splinters and sprays it with something that burns. He fills the wound with gauze and slaps a band aid over it. Much better than Wills original patch work job.

 

Will is grateful.

 

Hannibal’s lips upturn with a smile. Will finds it off putting, but relaxes none the less.

 

~

 

“Are you hungry William?”

 

It’s sound more like a statement coming from Hannibal. Will reluctantly agreed to bring Hannibal back to his shed and Winston. He’s been walking with Hannibal for an hour now, still unable to always look the older man in the eye, but he finds his presence more soothing than listening to himself talk.

 

“Uh… yes… sir.”

 

Hannibal doesn’t slow his pace down beside Will. He digs in the smaller bag hoisted on his arm before finally pulling out something wrapped in a thin paper.

 

“William please just refer to me as Hannibal. It’s Jerky. Not very refined, but it stays preserved for long period of time. Be mindful though, it’s a bit salty. I don’t want you to get dehydrated William.” Hannibal explains as he hands over the piece of meat to him.

 

He smells it before tasting it. Heavenly.

 

Will tears into like the starving boy he is.

 

Next to him Hannibal hums something quietly. A coping mechanism for the silence Will assumes.

 

Will stares at Hannibal’s chin in gratitude, unable to look into the man’s eyes. He enjoys the sound of another breathing living person.

 

“Thank you.” He says unsure which thing he was thanking Hannibal for.

 

Hannibal places a hand on his should as they walk. Will tenses up immediately and tries not to stumble. 

 

“It was a hobby of mine to cook for friends. Honestly, it’s embarrassing for me to serve you such a thing. But such are the circumstances…”

 

“I’m sure you cook amazingly Mr…uh just Hannibal.” Will not wanting to seem ungrateful quickly stutters.

 

A chuckle.

 

Hannibal looks directly at him, Will avoids his eyes by staring at hair drifting into Hannibal’s face. The heat leaves it practically plastered to his forehead.  “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough. I promise William.” His forehead wrinkles slightly as if an eyebrow is rising.

 

Wanting to say something Will speaks, “Back at the shed, Winston’s there…I probably should’ve saved some the jerky for him.”

 

“Winston?” his companion inquires.

 

“My dog. Turns out he was alright despite well… you know whatever happened out there. Just hoping the same can be said about my dad.”

 

 Hannibal stops walking, forcing Will to stop, “Hmm, your father… he has a truck?” he questions.

 

Will pauses, dread climbs up his back.    

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Louisiana plates…? G8TERS?”

 

Will runs a hand down his face. That silly license plate he father refused to get rid of. The Louisiana plates his father treasured. He assumes Hannibal takes his silence as conformation because there’s weight on both of his shoulders.

 

“I’m sorry William.”

 

“How’d he die?”

 

“The wind must’ve flipped his truck. It was upside-down and burned out.”  

 

“Oh. Ok.”

 

_He can hear screaming the sounds of metal tossed by nature. The scent of charred flesh._

“William?”

 

A bark snaps him back into reality.

 

Will slips out beneath Hannibal’s heavy hands.

 

“Just up there. C’mon.”

 

Winston!

 

Winston keeps barking until he can see him over the horizon. The shed is still fine and his house is still in shambles. Will has never been more ok with that. Winston is there, he’s waiting.

 

“What a lovely specimen.”

 

Will feels proud, Winston’s a big dog. Beautiful fur, great temperament.

 

These are his last thoughts before his neck tingles and Hannibal catches him with praticed ease.

 

~

It’s like the first time he woke up. Groggy and confused. The world blends and he can see that night has truly fallen for the first time in days. He can see the moon. It looks lovely. There are no stars. Winston is barking, Will is lying on his back.

 

He tries to stand; his body is entirely restrained in ropes. Assessing his surrounding more, he sees his shed and a merry fire going. A clinking noise, constant clinking.

 

“Ah William, dinner and a show it will be.”

 

Hannibal is sitting down on a log. More than likey dragged out the down trees. Next to him are his bags and a pile of wood.

 

“Why are you doing this? Let me go.” He tries to ignore the quivering in his own voice.

 

“I don’t usually have people watch me prepare the food raw, but I can imagine you might find this experience to be…life changing. You see William,”  

 

Hannibal stands. His leaves are rolled up and he’s wearing an apron. “- for the last few days I’ve found myself thinking. I’ve found myself just slightly famished. Starved for company strangely enough.” In his hand a large knife. He walks towards William slowly.

 

“Then I found you.”

 

He places a hand on his head. William bites his lip and shakes helplessly. Hannibal’s hand is heavy on his head. “Now William, I don’t initially plan to hurt you. But whose to say what our tomorrows will be like.” He strokes his hair with a gentleness only his mother could reciprocate.

 

His heat is beating out of his chest.

 

Finally Hannibal’s hand is gone and he approaches the tied animal.

 

“NO!”

 

Will struggles on the ground as Hannibal approaches Winston. The dog cries out helplessly as it tries to free itself from the rope securing it. The tall dark shadow of Hannibal is stretched even further by the fire the knife in the shadow like a claw.

 

He kicks his legs hoping for the ropes holding to slacken. Anything his side aches once more and can’t feel blood seeping from what has to be the gauze ripping out. Will shouts in anger in pain, pleading.

 

He sobs, ugly trails of snot running down his face, “Please!”

 

Hannibal pauses grabbing the rope leashing the animal.

 

“If you’re hungry, then you must eat what you can find.” Will hears Hannibal say this with such an even tone. As if there was some kind of logic to the man tying him up to kill his dog. The dog pulls back, fighting against Hannibal. Winston growls showing his teeth, Hannibal grins showing his own teeth in return.

 

His arm rises high. Hannibal turns one last time to look at Will, “I found three things.”

 

Will only cries as Hannibal plunges the knife into to belly of his beloved dog.  The dog yelping over and over until it finally collapses. Unable to contain himself Will feels urine cover the ground under him. Soiling his only pair of pants he cries until he falls asleep to sound of Hannibal slicing up Winston.

 

_The boy is sitting in the corner scribbling. He needs to stop the boy from scribbling._

_They’ll get in trouble if someone sees._

_Will grabs the boy by his arm._

_‘Stop that!’ he yells._

_The boy lulls his head to the side to look at Will. He’s looking at himself. They boy is him. His feet are still sticky with his mother’s blood. A frown etches the boy’s features._

_‘Consequence.’ The boy states._

_Will does not comprehend. He blinks so slowly that when he opens them again he’s sitting at table._ _Hannibal_ _is at the head of the table opposite him. At the center of the table sits two covered dishes. They smell wonderful._

_He blinks._

_Hannibal_ _is next to him smiling gentle as he begins to lift the cover for the food. It’s a head._

_A dog’s head._

_Winston’s head._

_“The second dish.”_

_Another head his father’s charred face, his expression pulled into agony._

_Will blinks._

_Hannibal_ _is now seated, knife and fork in hands still smiling._

_“Your Choice Will.”_

_He cries blood as he considers the consequence. No sound comes from his lips as red pools his eyes in waves._

_Hannibal_ _waits as long elegant antlers emerge from his head. The fork and knife in his hand do not tremble as he awaits his feast with a grin._

 “How good of you to wake just in time for dinner.”

 

Will lays there quietly. His glasses have slid from his face. Arms still bound behind his back, smelling of urine, he lays there. He’s still dazed. Stunned by the violence, frozen by the sudden loss of his only friend.

 

The tall smiling man only bounds over with a crude plate. On it the meat, it smells good.

 

Will feels ill.

 

“Now William, take care as this might be the only meat for a while. Enjoy it.” Will refuses to open his mouth. Hannibal only laughs quietly. It takes only a few moments til Hannibal forces the cooked food past his lips, the meat is the best Will has had in days.

 

Will vomits it up immediately.

 

Hannibal calmly puts the piping hot chucks of his dog to the side while Will catches his breath. Kneeling still before him, the man takes a piece of cloth and wipes his face of drool and vomit. He smiles as he does it.

 

“There, there, all better now-”

 

He doesn’t let Hannibal finish he does the only thing he can do. He spits on his directly on the left cheek. The man pauses momentarily and uses the same cloth to wipe his face before he folds it and puts it away.

 

“….” Hannibal sighs and frowns.

 

A flash of movement and Will’s face is shoved into his own vomit. Squirming, Will can’t even gag under the awful texture and feel of his dispelled stomach contents. He kicks and struggles to breathe as Hannibal drags his head through the dirt until he smells his own piss. His eyes water as spots dance across his vision.

 

The weight of the hand on the back of his is not his mother.

 

The hand’s weight disappears.

 

The voice calm and even, “When you’re ready you can crawl to your food William.”

 

He lays for a while. He hears Hannibal humming something by the fire.

 

Eventually he crawls, or worms his way to the plate.

 

Will leans forward face first towards the plate without his hands.

 

He eats Winston like a dog.

 

He can’t even cry at the irony.

 

It’s not until later when Hannibal rolls his bound body into a blanket that he realizes he is the second thing Hannibal found. He falls asleep to the sound of Hannibal humming again as he sharpens his knives.

 

Will dreams of killing Winston.

 

The next morning Hannibal gives him a bath while William chew the remains of his dog with trembling fingers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Hannibal and Will scourer the town for supplies. In a post apocalyptic world no one knocks. 
> 
> “Someone followed us.” Will whispers. “I know.” Hannibal states as he loads the rifle aiming it carefully over the edge of the kitchen counter. Will fights the urge to cling to Hannibal as they hear a door slowly creak open.


End file.
